“Yes,” she said, “I didn’t think of that before, I
“I will send a man home with you,” said Grice, pressing a bell. When a policeman in uniform entered, he told the man to take Janice to the waiting-room, and arrange for her to be taken home.
“Right-ho, sir. Come along, Miss.” The constable took Janice out, not before she had looked at Rollison beneath her lashes with a glance which she doubtless thought was alluring.
When the door closed behind her, both of them laughed.
“You’ve an impressive circle of friends,” said Grice. “Her type is as common as mud. She knew something of what was going on, and provided she came out of it well, she didn’t greatly mind. Shayle must be fond of her, or he wouldn’t lavish so much money on her.”
“Or,” said Rollison.
Grice frowned. “Oh what?”
“Or else he felt it wise to lavish clothes on her to make Sure that she kept her mouth shut,” said Rollison. “Perhaps there is more than fluff in that funny little head of hers. That’s only a suggestion, of course, and I may be quite wrong.” He offered cigarettes, and when Grice refused, lit one himself. “You’ll have her watched, won’t you?”
“Of course,” said Grice. He sat back and smiled, although his expression was grave and he seemed concerned. “Well, what about the Countess?”
“I’m a long way from convinced that she is a countess, or even if she is, that she’s half as bad as she’s been painted,” said Rollison.
“It isn’t like you to be so biased.”
“I’m judging from what I know of her. Bill, you started to base your case against her on the fact that she did not recognize certain tunes when they were played to her at the nursing home. That’s pretty thin.”
“It was an idea, no more,” said Grice, “and the rest developed directly from that. I’ve had a report in from the New York police,” he added, and took a telegram from his desk. “Read it, it might help to convince you.”
There was confirmation of the amount of money that had been raised by Countess Lila Hollern and of the fact that it was in her bank, under her name, and without a joint signature. There was also the admission that well- known members of New York banking circles and society had vouched for her, but a comment suggested that it might have been because of her looks. There was no doubt at all that the New York police considered that she had defrauded the public. The cable ended with the statement that action was being considered in New York, and the hope that if it materialized, Scotland Yard would be able to arrange for the countess’s extradition.
Rollison put down the cablegram and said slowly:
“Will you oblige them?”
“Not on the present evidence,” said Grice. “In any case I doubt whether the Home Office would agree—we’ve plenty to discuss with the lady over here!”
“When are you going to start?”
“When I know a little more,” said Grice. “Now, you’ve something on your mind—what is it?”
“Until she heard it in my flat, I don’t believe that she had the Yugo-Slav National Anthem played to her,” said Rollison, quietly. “I don’t believe the matron carried out the instructions and I believe she gave a false report.”
“You’re dreaming this up,” said Grice.
“Well, will you look into it?” asked Rollison.
After a pause, Grice said: “All right.”
“Don’t forget the police have made some errors in this case,” Rollison said. “First they let Lady Lost go from the nursing home”
“I’ve learned, since,” said Grice. “A visitor in a fur coat went in—and, naturally, when my men saw a fur coat come out, they had no suspicions. Later they saw another fur coat, asked the wearer questions, and then realized they had been tricked.”
The telephone rang as he finished.
“Grice speaking,” said Grice, into it. Rollison watched and saw his expression change, the skin grew tauter over his nose and cheeks, and while still listening he pressed a bell-push on the desk. At last he said: “Yes, stay there, touch nothing and move nothing, and allow no one else in the room. . . . If necessary lock the door, I will take the responsibility.” He replaced the receiver after a terse good-bye, and looked grimly at Rollison as a constable answered his summons.
Grice said: “Ask Chief Inspector Bernay to come in at once, then find out whether Sergeant Gorring is free. Tell the sergeant, if you find him, that we shall want everything for a case of homicide. He is to telephone Dr. Gray. Failing Sergeant Gorring, get Sergeant Anderson.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable, as if Grice had asked for a sandwich, and turned and went out.
“Homicide,” murmured Rollison.
“If Phyllis Armitage told me the truth just now, murder,” said Grice, getting up. “I must pop upstairs and have a word with the Assistant Commissioner before I go. Are you coming?”
“Where?” asked Rollison.
“To the Lawley Nursing Home,” said Grice. “Miss Armitage went to see the matron and found that she has been killed.” He paused by the door, looked at Rollison thoughtfully, and then said with feeling: “There are times when you’re so uncanny that you scare me.”
Rollison said: “Uncanny? I simply look at the facts. I’ll see you there later,” he added, picking up his hat. “I’m
